


Falling is Like This

by thingswithwings



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Wingfic, sex in the air
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-04-03
Updated: 2003-04-03
Packaged: 2017-10-24 00:36:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswithwings/pseuds/thingswithwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was in Good Omens fandom when wingfic was unironically popular.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling is Like This

Aziraphale would say later that only the true of heart and pure of spirit could have seen it.

Crowley would say later that Aziraphale was a stupid git, and that the ones who saw it were flukes, because they were both rather distracted at the time, and how hard were _you_ concentrating on making them not see, anyway, Angel?

In any case, be they pure, or lucky, or both, a few humans looked up from London’s crowded streets and saw more than the occasional bird or plane.

*

Wings. Vast, majestic, snow-white wings. A blond man with clear, delicate features, wearing nothing except for those great, incredible wings, was swooping in grand loops and intricate whirls throughout the sky above Soho. The too-white, too-bright wings stretched and beat the air, joy and love and perfect control evident in every feat of aerial acrobatics. It was a rare day of perfect sunshine, and the light was reflected and refracted by those wings, making little rainbows in the air that came into being and vanished almost immediately as the man wheeled and spun in the pure blue sky.

*

The only word for them was ebony, and not even that. Wide, black wings, so black they were blue, seemed to be unfurling forever in the sky, taking up all of existence. Strength and power rolled off of them in waves, like heat haze, belying their soft appearance. Light, glinting off of the occasional scales that lined his skin, was caught in the dark heat of those wings, caught up and cradled by the soft black feathers. The man to whom they were attached rolled and flipped in the early summer sun, each time riding the air currents for only so long before diving, eyes closed, arms thrown out in pleasure as he flew against the wind.

*

The few that would see what happened next gasped in amazement as both creatures stopped, suddenly, in the air. Their great wings beat, keeping them aloft, as the two locked eyes. The black-winged one grinned, all temptation in his smile, and the white-winged one laughed, a sound like pure joy. A moment, suspended in air, and they took off again, upwards this time. It looked like a race, the kind of foot-race that children have with their friends on summer days like this one, the kind of race where you’re laughing and can’t help it. The kind of race where all the world is beautiful and all the world is within the pure act of running with the wind in your hair.

The two roared skyward. Up, up, until even the sharpest-sighted human on the ground couldn’t see anything more than dots against the blue sky, until even the hardiest of them had to shield his eyes from the sun and wait.

Then, finally, they fell.

A single falling mass of feathers and skin. The two plummeted towards earth, neither putting wings against the wind, neither bothering with the air that rushed past them. Their wings were wrapped around each other, black and white feathers laced together, their coupling bodies shielded from the air and the light. As they came into view, it became apparent that they were kissing as they thrust against each other, their respective manes of hair rippling in the wind as they cupped each other’s faces. It seemed quite certain that they would hit the ground.

They continued to fall.

At what seemed like the last moment, two voices were raised in absolute pleasure, one tenor, one baritone; the sound of them ripped across the sky like a thunderclap.

And, at what was actually the last moment, the two separated, each unfurling their wings just in time to swoop past the ground and back up again, soaring off together at incredible speed.

Although very few had actually witnessed what had just transpired, every single person on the busy street felt something. Most felt it as a strong gust of wind going by, ruffling their hair almost affectionately. Some felt it as white joy, and some as dark rippling amusement. Six people felt sudden inspiration for what would become great works of art, both dark and beautiful, disturbing and uplifting.

But they all felt good.

Most of Soho, in fact, felt the need for a cigarette.

And, high and far off, the two beings laughed, stretched their wings, and kept a lookout for a good sushi bar.


End file.
